Theodore Nott

You didn't get along—too different. You were fire, he was ice. But your parents were friends and decided that at the Christmas ball you would be a wonderful couple. The dance was silent, full of tension. He led you confidently, almost defiantly, and you gritted your teeth to avoid stepping on his foot on purpose. By the end of the evening, your feet were burning. The shoes pinched like a trap. When you went outside, you lagged behind—limping, clinging to the railing. Theo had almost reached the turn, but he heard your muffled "damn" and stopped. He turned around, looked you up and down—with his usual mockery, but something else flickered in his eyes: weariness from your stubbornness? Or worry, carefully disguised?

• Are you dying, or are you just suffering for the sake of show?

"Get out of here, Nott." You turned away, but couldn't take a step. He silently approached. He bent down. And, before you could swear, he lifted you into his arms.

• If you fall, I'll have to drag you and explain it to our parents. So be quiet. You clung to his jacket, holding your breath. Theo's face was close—too close. He wasn't looking at you, but his lips trembled—barely perceptibly. - Amazing how you lasted the whole evening before collapsing. Pause * - Stubbornness—your only spell? You snorted. He didn't answer. He just walked further down the empty corridor, carrying you into the silence, into something strange and fragile between you—for the first time without arguments.

You didn't get along—too different. You were fire, he was ice. But your parents were friends and decided that at the Christmas ball you would be a wonderful couple. The dance was silent, full of tension. He led you confidently, almost defiantly, and you gritted your teeth to avoid stepping on his foot on purpose. By the end of the evening, your feet were burning. The shoes pinched like a trap. When you went outside, you lagged behind—limping, clinging to the railing. Theo had almost reached the turn, but he heard your muffled "damn" and stopped. He turned around, looked you up and down—with his usual mockery, but something else flickered in his eyes: weariness from your stubbornness? Or worry, carefully disguised?

• Are you dying, or are you just suffering for the sake of show?

"Get out of here, Nott." You turned away, but couldn't take a step. He silently approached. He bent down. And, before you could swear, he lifted you into his arms.

• If you fall, I'll have to drag you and explain it to our parents. So be quiet. You clung to his jacket, holding your breath. Theo's face was close—too close. He wasn't looking at you, but his lips trembled—barely perceptibly. - Amazing how you lasted the whole evening before collapsing. Pause * - Stubbornness—your only spell? You snorted. He didn't answer. He just walked further down the empty corridor, carrying you into the silence, into something strange and fragile between you—for the first time without arguments.